Dans Med Mig
by Moonlight-is-Innocence
Summary: AU // Young Haldor is having a birthday and it's Norwegian tradition to pick a friend to dance with during class. Søren is not pleased when his best friend does not choose him--in favor of his younger brother. // More explanation inside.


Title (Danish): Dance with Me

Dedicated to my friend, pineappleSAMBA, who RPs Norge to my Denmark.

The idea is based off of something I stumbled upon last week.  
Apparently:

_In Norway the birthday child stands out in front of their class and chooses a friend to share a little dance with while the rest of the class sings a happy birthday song. Most birthday parties consist of chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and dishes of red gelatin covered with vanilla sauce._

Names:

_Søren _= Denmark  
_Haldor _= Norway  
_Nils _= Iceland

Words:

_Takk _= Thank you (Norwegian)  
_Hej _= Hey (Danish)  
_Norge _= Norway (Danish)

* * *

Dans Med Mig

"Dance with Me"

The young Norwegian boy shuffled his feet. Anxiously, he shifted from one side to the other. Right. Left. Right. Left. Despite this, his face showed no particular expression. He waited patiently at the front of the room, near the door, for the kindly older woman who was his teacher to call for his attention, and subsequently, that of the rest of the class. He stared out at their bright face, as they smiled and laughed, and got lost in his thoughts. They knew what was happening. Scouting the students, he found the two that mattered to him. His younger brother-as quiet as he, though sometimes hot-headed, and unusually bright for his age, the reason why he was allowed in his elder brother's classroom once finished with his own work. The other was his self-proclaimed best friend, a friendly student that had moved to Norway from Denmark. Søren took immediately to the quiet Norwegian boy, for reasons beyond his own understanding. The Dane lavished him with attention often and was always trying to get him to smile. Though, the Norwegian boy sometimes thought, his Danish friend nearly always smiled enough for both of them.

"Alright," the teacher began speaking. Though the boy continued to stare in front of him at his white-haired younger brother and the spiky-blond Dane.

"-birthday. So, Haldor, you can pick a friend from the class to dance with while the class sings." The kind lady addressed him, her smile perking up her cheeks and accentuating the crow's feel forming around her eyes.

The boy nodded. It was a Norwegian birthday tradition.

Once again, he found himself staring at those two people. His brother dutifully focused on facing forward, occasionally looking at Haldor, waiting for his decision, and glancing inconspicuously and wistfully out the window to the sea that the school overlooked from its hilltop perch.

On the other hand, Søren stared-and beamed-directly and unabashedly at the boy at the front of the class. His blue eyes were luminescent with happiness and held sparks of mischief on his best friend's birthday.

He knew the Dane. He knew that Søren was happy purely for the sake of his special day. He knew the smile was meant for only him. But he also knew that the Dane would-selfishly, possessively-want to be what kept Haldor's sole attention.. He knew the Dane wanted to be selected by his Norwegian friend-no, _best_ friend-for this honor. As children, Haldor knew it meant something special, because it was his _birthday_ and because they, as children, could not do much for one another to show each other their degree of importance, for as far as children can comprehend such a thing.

"Nils," Haldor finally spoke up. The teacher nodded and beckoned for the boy's younger sibling to come forth. The boy complied, silently and willingly and the two brothers held hands. When the birthday song started, they dance as they knew and the blond brother even smiled a little.

He glanced out at his joyfully singing classmates, at the one whose bright smile faltered just slightly; whose words came out more softly; whose eyes twinkled no longer with mischief, but with twinges of sadness.

As the song and dance ended, the boy returned to their seats and the teacher allowed a few moments of cacophonic birthday congratulations for the stoic Norwegian boy.

"Happy Birthday, Norge!" The Danish boy shouted cheerfully at Haldor, using the nickname he had given the other when they had first become friends.

"Takk, Søren," he replied curtly. The smile was back, he noted, and bigger than before but didn't quite reach the other's bright eyes, blue as though they had been painted with the color of the sea on the clearest of day that he had ever known.

With that, class resumed. During their free time and between assignments, the wild-haired Dane chatted endlessly about one thing or another, and he always managed to throw in a compliment to Haldor or a comment about his birthday and how they were going to celebrate. 'Norge' was lulled into a sense of security; he had figured that Søren would be upset that he had chosen his brother over his "best" friend but perhaps the Danish boy decided to let the issue slide.

* * *

Haldor idly drew figures in the sand. He sat on a rock at the shoreline, breathing in the heavily-brine-laden air, and able to watch over his younger brother as he played at the edge of the water and investigated tide pools, Haldor couldn't be more at ease. He loved the ocean and, in fact, was sure that he would become a sailor one day, and perhaps he would discover an island. He shrugged to himself every time he had this thought. Not probably, but also not impossible, he always reasoned.

Such adventures were not expected by someone, especially a child, as pensive and quiet as he. They were obviously meant for one more outgoing. Haldor never quite imagined bringing his brother along with him-though in his protective, fraternal mind, he couldn't imagine leaving his white-haired sibling behind-yet he could, and would, always picture a companion standing next to him. Tall, strong, wild hair, a smile that was brighter than the sun and could woo Freya's heart, and blue, blue eyes, the color of the ocean on he clearest of days.

Such a friend that is always by his side, even when he's not picked for the birthday dance in class.

Haldor silently looked up as he heard footsteps approach him. He watched as Søren sat down next to him on the rock, letting his feet dangle over the edge.

"Hej, Norge," the taller blond greeted, his thick Danish accent stifling his Norwegian speech.

"Hallo, Søren." Haldor stared out into the sea. He gazed below and around him, checking in on his brother before losing himself in his thoughts again. He, once more, began to imagine the great ship he would sail, like a dragon across the water. He would travel to the corners of the world, starting with the Northern ones. He would land on a coast green and fertile and- "Hey, Norge…"

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted.

The Danish boy continued. "Why didn't you choose me?'

Haldor thought for a moment, startled and still somewhat lost in his previous daydream, wondering why the Dane was asking such a question when he was obviously standing right next to him, surveying the landscape as he finally stepped off the boat…

"Nils is my brother. So, why shouldn't I have picked him?" He replied, the imagined scene dissolving into reality.

"No, no… What I meant was, why didn't you pick me? I get why you would pick your brother… Why didn't you pick me?"

Norge was taken aback by Søren's question. It was mildly confusing yet he thought he understood it. He glanced at his friend, who was waiting with patience and yet an impudent pout on his lips. The Danish boy was used to these long silences as Haldor pondered what to say or how to answer a question, never one to waste his breath.

"I…" the quiet boy started. "I suppose when given the choice… my brother is inevitably closer to me than anyone. Is it any surprise that I would choose him?"

Søren furrowed his eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest, resting them on drawn-up knees.

"Yeah… but still! I'm your best friend!" He exclaimed.

An admonishing gaze of cobalt met vibrant and defiant cerulean.

"I know that. You know that. What more is there to say?" The Norwegian boy spoke tonelessly. Søren's mouth opened and closed but no words were emitted.

"You look like a fish," Haldor quipped. The remark was not intended to hurt the other's feelings, but the Dane did not notice the jeer even if it had.

Before Søren had a chance to respond, however, Haldor's white-haired younger brother, Nils, ran up to the older boys.

"Haldor," Nils said while pointed in the direction of some rocks. "What kind of bird is that?!"

"That's a puffin," his brother responded. Having gotten his answer, Nils ran over to the rocks and gazed, enraptured, at the strange bird.

"You ignored me again!" Søren shouted in accent-laden Norwegian.

"You weren't talking, potato-mouth," Haldor said simply.

The taller boy harrumphed his frustration. "You're supposed to be paying attention to me!"

"I'm supposed to be celebrating my birthday however I please."

Haldor knew that the now-flabbergasted Dane would react this way. Even on the Norwegian's birthday he wanted-needed-to be the center of attention. Vaguely, Haldor wondered if he wouldn't be acting this way he had just chosen the boy over his brother during class. So he, shrugging at the thought, stood up and grabbed Søren's hand. The other reacted with surprise at the gesture.

"Dance with me," the young, Norwegian boy said, staring cold cobalt into blue, blue, bright eyes that were painted with the color of the sea on the clearest of days. Eyes with a spirit as wild as the crashing waves and as vibrant as laughter on the shoreline.

"Really?!" The Dane shouted. In his excitement, he was somehow able to simultaneously jump up from his seat on the rock and tackle his friend without falling.

"Yes, now get off me."

The rambunctious blond let out a hoot and a bark of laughter.

"Trust you to get so excited over a stupid little dance."

"But it's special! Not stupid! It's my best friend's birthday dance! My Norge's dance!"

"Whatever," Norge replied, but had a ghost of a smile playing about his lips. He led Søren in the traditional Norwegian birthday dance. The Danish boy, tripping over his own feet once or twice, never seemed happier in the time Haldor knew him than during that dance.

"You're silly and stupid to get riled up over such a thing," he said when the jig was over.

"Aw, I like you too, Norge!" Søren said, hugging his friend tightly. The action caused Norge to flush and put on an expression that could hardly be considered a pout but was the closest thing to such a gesture as Haldor would ever get.

"Come on, I made you a cake!" Søren said as he ran off in the direction of the Norwegian's home.

Haldor merely shook his head at his friend's antics, and followed, calling Nils to him from the rocks-and the boy did so diligently, a small, young bird resting contently in his arms.

"Haldor! This is Puffin! He doesn't have a mommy or daddy either, and he likes me. Can we keep him?"

_Ende_

* * *

I think I might write a mini-sequel, continuing the idea when they are older. What do you think? **This story will not be listed as "completed" until this decision is made.**

Notes:

Norway calling Denmark "potato-mouth" -- another bit of trivia I discovered; Norwegian, Danish and Swedish are very similar and apparently Norwegians think the Danes sound as though they're speaking with a potato in their mouth.

Norway's dreams of becoming a sailor are supposed to be representative of the Norwegian Vikings. Likewise, Denmark being a sailor alongside him would symbolize the Danish Vikings.

Discovering an "island": Norwegians discovering Iceland. The use of the word "island" could mean a mass of land completely surrounded by water, but it could also be a pun on the Icelandic name for Iceland: Ísland.

A ship sailing on the ocean "like a dragon across the water" is an allusion to the Drekar type of longships which were carved to look like serpents--dragons or snakes--in order to ward off evil sea monsters of Norse mythology.

If you already figured out all/some of those, good for you. Denmark will give you some pickled herring and maybe if you ask nicely, Iceland will give you some Hákarl (a.k.a. fermented—yes, that means rotten—shark).

_**Axis Powers Hetalia © Hidekaz Himaruya**_


End file.
